The Hero's Redemption

She glared inside. “With what I just spent, you’d think that jerk could’ve offered to help.”

“He’s afraid of me.” The way you should be.

She sniffed. “I may have to drive out to the freeway next time and shop at Lowe’s.”

A smile wanted to break across Cole’s face. Erin Parrish might be a little strange, but what the hell?

His stomach growled.

* * *

ERIN BACKED HER Jeep Grand Cherokee up to the garage, never so glad she’d bought it last year instead of the Mustang she’d had her eye on. Back then, she’d told herself she wanted a burly vehicle, with a powerful engine. Hauling anything but a new piece of furniture had been the last thing on her mind.

She sneaked a sidelong look at the man beside her. There’d been a time when she thought through every decision before acting. The old Erin Parrish was the antonym of impulsive, but that woman no longer existed.

She knew what had triggered this impulse. It wasn’t so much that he’d been turned down for a job he obviously needed desperately or even the reason he was rejected that got to her. No, she’d been watching his face, assuming she’d see disappointment, shame, perhaps anger. Instead, she’d seen only resignation. He hadn’t expected to be hired. She’d found herself wondering if this man expected anything good from anybody.

And then she’d heard herself say, “Will you ring up my stuff? I’ll be right back,” and had gone racing after him.

When she approached him on the sidewalk, his head was hanging so low she couldn’t see his expression, but his body spoke of despair. She’d been conscious of how powerful that body was, noticed the tattoo peeking out above the collar of his white undershirt. When he whirled, prepared to fight, wariness finally kicked in, but then she saw how gaunt his bony face was, that his shirt was wrinkled, his boots worn. His brown hair was cut brutally short, and his expressionless eyes were an icy blue. She had the kind of thought that would once have appalled her.

He could be a murderer. Maybe he’d kill her.

I should be dead. If he corrected that little mistake, so be it.

Here she was at Nanna’s house. Me and the ex-con. Nanna had to be shuddering, wherever she was.

She turned off the engine and set the emergency brake. “Home, sweet home.” They were the first words out of her mouth—or his—since she’d determined that he had no transportation of his own.

He nodded and got out, going to the rear and waiting until the hatch door rose. When she started muscling the garage door up, he moved fast, taking over before she even heard him coming.

In the garage, he walked a slow circle. “I see why you needed the tools. Although—” he picked up an ax “—some of these can be salvaged with some steel wool and oil.”

Me and the ex-con, who is now holding an ax. She cleared her throat. “Really? They’re so corroded.”

“Just rusty.” He set it down. “I’ll unload.”

Of course she helped. They leaned the old rake and shovel and whatever else against the wall and used the hooks and nails to hold the new tools. The smaller tools hung above the workbench.

“Okay,” she said, “let me show you around.”

He followed silently, his expression no more readable. She was slightly unnerved to notice he carried a screwdriver. When they reached the front porch steps, he stabbed the screwdriver into the wood, which made a squishy sound. He removed it, straightened and looked at her. “Your foot’ll go right through.”

“I have been worrying about that. The back steps aren’t so good, either.”

He shook his head, poked at the porch apron, then gingerly climbed to the porch itself, where he did some more stabbing.

His verdict? “Whole porch should be rebuilt.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Can you do that?”

“Sure.”

“Well, then.” Gosh, buying lumber might have been a smart thing to do. She’d bought a circular saw with the vague idea that she could use it for small projects. Was that what he’d need?

“Can you drive?” she asked.

Not wasting even one word, he shook his head.

“Then I guess I should go to the lumberyard.”

“Did you buy a measuring tape?”

Oops. “I’ll...go see if I can find one inside.”

“I’ll check the workbench. If you can get a pencil and piece of paper...”

Feeling awkward, she went inside, aware that he’d disappeared into the garage. The best she found was an old wooden yardstick. But she stepped out onto the porch to find him crouched, a metal measuring tape already extended across the porch steps. “I can do the writing,” she offered.

He reeled off dimensions and what kind of board was needed. Two-by-four. Four-by-four. Two-by-two. Nails. Primer. Brushes. He asked if she’d bought paint for the house yet. No.

“Might be good to decide what colors you want,” he suggested. “Then I can paint the porch as I go, while the weather holds.”

She could do that.

He said he hadn’t seen a ladder. She told him she had a stepladder inside. A faintly condescending expression crept over his impassive face. Three steps wouldn’t get him very high on the side of the house, he pointed out. Um, no, they wouldn’t.

“Tell you what,” he said finally. “If you want to run to the lumberyard, I’ll get the clippers and start cutting back the growth that’s crowding the house. Can’t scrape it if I can’t get to it.”

“Will you recognize the lilac and...there used to be a big climbing rose to the right of the porch?” she asked, remembering the garden in bloom so many years ago. “Oh, and some rhododendrons.”

“I’ll recognize them.”

They agreed she could pick up paint chips today and think overnight about what colors she wanted for the house. When she left, clutching the piece of paper with the materials list, she told him the front door was unlocked if he needed the bathroom. But she saw his face. He wouldn’t be going in.

Now was a fine time to wonder whether she’d crossed the line to crazy.

CHAPTER TWO

COLE SWUNG THE machete in a smooth rhythm, glad Erin had thought to buy one. The sharp blade sliced through blackberry canes, salmonberries, fireweed and other nuisance weeds, baring the foundation and clapboard siding of the old house. He used the ancient clothesline he’d found in the garage to pull salvageable shrubs away from the house.

When he heard the Jeep turn into the driveway, he walked around the corner of the house to meet her.

The first thing he noticed was the aluminum extension ladder tied to the roof. Lumber was piled in the back of the Jeep, extending beyond the bumper. A strip of red cloth dangled from the end of the longest board.

He forgot everything else when Erin got out, carrying a pizza box.

His stomach cramped and saliva filled his mouth. Pride made him want to thank her politely and refuse her offer of lunch, but he was too damn hungry. If he didn’t get more to eat, he wouldn’t be able to do the work she’d asked of him.

“Let’s eat before we unload,” she said.

He managed a stiff, “Thank you.”

She handed over the pizza. “I have bottled water and some Pepsi in the fridge. Milk, too. What would you like?”

When was the last time anyone had given him a choice? He didn’t want milk, he knew that, but only said, “Anything.”

She disappeared into the house, returning with two cans of pop and a bottle of water, as well as what looked like a wad of paper towels. When she saw him sitting on the bottom porch step, legs outstretched, she put the drinks down within reach and sat, too.

“We aren’t going to end up on our butts in the dirt if we move wrong, are we?”

He felt a tiny spark of amusement, which surprised him. “There’s not far to fall.”

“Well...that’s true.” She picked up a slice of pizza and started eating.

She’d bought a half-meat, half-cheese pizza. He sank his teeth into a slice heaped with sausage, pepperoni and mushrooms, almost groaning with pleasure.

“How far did you get with the weeding?” she asked eventually.

“About halfway around.” Did she realize it might take a couple of weeks to do the job she’d talked about, rather than the two or three days he’d originally expected?

“Any surprises?”

“Some siding that’ll need to be replaced.” He’d used the screwdriver to check for rot as he went.

She scrunched up her nose. “Figures.”

Two pieces later, he said, “The gutters are in bad shape.”

“I noticed rain was running right over them.”

Without a ladder, he hadn’t been able to look closely, but they were obviously packed full of leaves, fir needles and debris. They’d also torn away from the eaves in places. She might decide to hire a company that specialized in gutters to replace them instead of keeping him on.

He stopped eating sooner than he would have liked, and began unloading the Jeep. Erin came to help him. The lumber went in the garage. He propped the new ladder against the house, figuring they’d need it today. When she put on gloves and started scraping, he went back to taming the wild growth.

By now, there was some burn in his muscles as he swung the machete. Lifting weights built muscle, but this required a different kind of motion. To block out the discomfort, he turned his thoughts in another direction.

He hadn’t let himself speculate about another person in a long time, but as the next couple of hours passed, Cole did a lot of thinking about Erin Parrish. How could he help it?

Despite his wariness, he spent some time savoring the pleasure of watching her. Whenever he passed behind her, his gaze lingered on the long, slim line of her back, the subtle curve of her waist and hips, her ass and astonishing legs. He had a feeling he’d have no trouble picturing her face tonight when he should be trying to sleep. Her eyes were beautiful, the gold bright in sunlight, the green predominant in the dimmer lighting of the garage. The delicacy of her jaw, cheekbones and nose turned him on as much as her body did. He hadn’t seen anything this pretty in ten long years.

But mostly he tried to understand what she’d been thinking.

Why would a lone woman hire someone like him, no questions asked? He could be a rapist, a murderer; how would she know? She might have assumed she was safe, midday in a residential neighborhood, but he could have pushed her into the house more quickly than she realized. Or yanked the garage door down while they were piling lumber in there. Done whatever he chose, then walked away.

He wanted to ask why she’d hired him, but he wanted the job more. Encouraging her to have second thoughts wasn’t in his best interests.

Yeah, but this could be a setup. What if she got what labor she could out of him, then refused to pay him? He’d have no recourse. Although, considering what she knew about him, it seemed unlikely she’d take the risk of pissing him off.

A darker scenario occurred to him. He could get some of the hard work done, and then she could cry rape or assault. Whether there was any physical evidence or not, her word would be taken over his.

Hell, he thought. Accepting this job hadn’t been smart. But he circled back to hard reality—he was desperate. No one else would hire him. He’d already run out of the limited amount of money he’d been given on leaving the joint. And he was flirting with trouble, anyway, because one of the conditions of parole was having a place to live and a job. His sister had agreed he could say he’d be able to stay with her, but that had never been an option. Her husband wanted nothing to do with her ex-con brother, refused to let Cole near their kids.

He had to contact his parole officer soon and have an acceptable alternative, or he’d find himself back in his cell.

Whatever Erin Parrish was thinking, she was a hard worker who made good progress scraping the siding while he continued beating back the jungle. When he finished, he returned to find her standing high on the ladder, stretching as far as she could to reach a spot beneath the eaves.

“What should I do with the piles of stuff I cut?” he asked.

Turning too quickly, she lurched. He lunged forward and grabbed the ladder to steady it.

Gripping the ladder herself, she blew out a breath. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you coming.”

Despite a temperature that was likely in the midsixties, he’d worked up a sweat, and saw that she had, too. Damp strands of hair clung to her cheeks, and she wiped her forehead with her forearm. Flakes of white paint looked like confetti in her hair and on her shoulders.

“I have no idea,” she admitted after a minute. “I noticed when I put out my garbage can that a couple of neighbors had big green ones, too. I wonder if they’re for yard waste? I’ll call the company and find out. Otherwise, I might need to get a Dumpster of some kind. I think it’s possible to rent one.”

“You might need both. There’ll be nails in what I tear off the house. Some of that wood’s been treated or painted, too. It can’t go in yard waste.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Why don’t you come down? I’ll deal with what’s up there, above your reach.”

She looked mulish. “I’m doing okay.”

“I’m taller and I have longer arms.” And if she fell and was injured, he’d be up shit creek. How could he ask for his pay while she was being loaded in the ambulance?

“Oh, fine.” She climbed down with extra care.

Cole saw that she was trembling, and it couldn’t be from cold. Suddenly angry, he said, “You’re exhausted.”

She glared at him. “I can keep working.”

He plucked the scraper out of her hand. “You’ve done enough for one day.”

“It’s none of your business if I want—”

Something froze inside him. He set the scraper down on a ladder rung and stepped back. “You’re right.”

He’d started to walk away when she said, “I’m sorry. I’m being stupid.”

Stupid? Cole turned around. He thought it was shame that colored her cheeks.

“I don’t have much upper body strength,” she admitted. “It’s been a while since—” She broke off. “I don’t like feeling useless, but you’re right. I’ve reached my limit.”

He didn’t dare say anything.

Her eyes shied away from his. “I’ll go in and call the garbage company. And look at the paint samples. Um, if you’d like to stay for dinner—”

He shook his head.

“Well, then...”

“I can get a couple more hours in.”

She backed away. “Okay. Thank you. Don’t take off without knocking. I’ll pay you as we go. Cash for now, unless you’d rather have a check—”

“I don’t have a bank account yet.”

She nodded and disappeared around the corner of the house. A minute later, he heard the front door close.

Cole shifted the ladder and started in where she’d left off.

* * *

ERIN DIDN’T SLEEP any better than she had the night before, or any other night in months. This was different only because she had something new to think about.

Someone.

Cole Meacham disturbed her.

The irony was, she could hardly bear being around people who wanted any kind of normal interaction with her. Whether it was chatting about nothing or an exchange of deeply personal information, either had her longing for escape. Cole asked for neither. He seemed to have no more interest in chatting than she did. Less. He answered questions as briefly as possible, and sometimes she sensed him struggling to pull a response from somewhere deep inside him, as if he’d forgotten how to make conversation.

That was fine with her. He was a day laborer, that was all. She hoped she was helping him out, as he was helping her. And maybe her self-consciousness around him, her constant awareness of him, was only because of his history. As far as she knew, she’d never met anyone who had served a term in prison, or if she had, they hadn’t looked the part as completely as he did.

The nearly shaved head emphasized the sharp edges of his cheekbones, the hollows beneath, the strong line of his jaw. She wondered about the tattoo reaching toward his collarbone. Today, he hadn’t removed the chambray shirt he wore loose over a ribbed white undershirt or tank, she wasn’t quite sure which. He’d rolled up the sleeves, exposing muscular, sinewy forearms dusted with brown hair but exhibiting no ink. Was his entire back or chest covered with tattoos? What about his shoulders?

Moaning, Erin flipped over in bed. The knowledge that he had a tattoo increased her visceral knowledge that he could be dangerous. That, and his complete lack of expression.

Every so often, she imagined she saw a flicker of something, but imagined was probably the right word. Did he not feel anything? Or had he just become adept at hiding any hint of emotion or vulnerability?

Even when she’d paid him shortly after five, he had only nodded and stuffed the bills in his jeans pocket without counting them first. He’d thanked her in that gruff, quiet voice, asked what time he should start in the morning and refused her offer of a ride.

Where was he staying? Had he been able to rent a room somewhere, or did he have a friend or family in West Fork? Most places in town were within walking distance. Erin might have asked, except she’d known how unwelcome any personal question would be. And she’d learned to hate intrusive questions herself, so she had to respect his feelings.

Would he show up in the morning? If he didn’t... Of course she could find someone else, but Erin knew she’d hate not knowing what had happened to him. Despite her prickling sense that he could be a threat, he had been almost painfully polite all day, even gentlemanly. The way he’d leaped when he thought she might fall from the ladder, and then urged her to stop work when he could tell she was tired, seemed like the behavior of a guy whose protective instincts were alive and well.

Or else he didn’t want her to overdo or hurt herself because he was afraid of losing even this short-term job. She made a face. That was more likely. He was an ex-con.

Only, she knew too well that everyone made mistakes. A life-shattering mistake was never more than a heartbeat away. Sometimes, the mistake was no more than a moment of inattention.

* * *

ERIN FINISHED BREAKFAST and a first cup of coffee, disappointed that Cole hadn’t knocked to let her know he’d arrived. She was sure she would have heard him if he’d started in without waiting for her. Maybe one day’s pay was enough to allow him to drift along.

But she decided to look outside, and when she opened the front door, she saw him leaning against the fender of her Cherokee. He straightened and walked up the driveway as she descended the porch steps.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting,” she said.

“Not long.”

His tongue hadn’t loosened overnight.

“You could have started. Or come up to the house for a cup of coffee.”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

Couldn’t he tell how little sleeping she actually did? Or...maybe he had.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“Had a cup on my way here,” he said briefly.

“Oh. Okay.” She couldn’t ask if that was true. “But you’re always welcome—”

“I’ll get started.” Apparently, they were done talking. Except he didn’t move, but shifted his weight from foot to foot in what might be a hint of uncertainty. “Thought I might work on the porch today instead of the siding.” Pause. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Yes. Oh! That’s probably a good idea. I keep thinking a step will give way.”

He nodded.

“Thank you. Do you need help?”

“Not now.”

So she retreated to the house for a second cup of coffee that she needed, and brooded about the fact that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She recognized the tear on the right knee of his jeans, and a stain on the tail of the chambray shirt. No reason that should worry her; given how dirty the job was, putting on clean clothes every morning didn’t make sense. She had on yesterday’s ragged jeans herself. Chances were good he’d only have a few changes of clothing. Even if he had plenty of money, running out and buying a new wardrobe probably wasn’t a priority.

Besides, she’d embarrass him if she said anything.

Since he obviously didn’t need assistance, she went back to scraping. Sore muscles screamed; if they didn’t loosen up, she’d have to find something else to do.

She stuck to it for about an hour before whimpering and letting her arm fall to her side. Coaching volleyball and softball, she’d stayed in condition. The weight she’d lost since the crash, plus six months of idleness, were apparently exacting a cost.

From where she was working, she hadn’t been able to see Cole, but the screech of nails and the ripping sound of boards being torn up hadn’t stopped. Walking around the house, she stopped at the sight of a bigger-than-expected pile of splintered lumber.

He’d finished with the porch floorboards and now had one knee on a step as he pried up a board on the step above. It didn’t come up cleanly. With a sodden sound, one end separated.

Erin winced. She’d been careful to stay close to the edge and cling to the rail as she went up and down the steps, but still...

His head turned and he fastened those icy eyes on her.

She approached. “You’ve made good progress.”

“This part doesn’t take long.” He kept watching her. “The supports are rotting, too. I’m going to have to rebuild from the ground up.”

“I guess that’s not a surprise. I think the porch is original to the house.”

“The steps aren’t as old as the rest of the porch.”

“My grandfather kept things up until his health declined. Even then, he made sure the work got done.”

“When did he die?”

A little startled that he’d actually asked, she said, “Fifteen years ago? No, more than that. Seventeen or eighteen.”

He nodded, then changed the subject. “Did you order a Dumpster?”

“Yes. They’ll deliver it either today or tomorrow. I also asked for two yard waste bins.”

He had that brief dip of his head down pat. Saved a lot of words.

She gazed upward. “I’ll have to buy shingles.” She assumed he would rebuild the porch roof.

“And some plywood. Different kind of nails, too.”

He agreed he’d make her a new list or accompany her to the lumberyard, although an even blanker than usual face suggested he’d rather not go on an outing. With her? Or at all?

At his request, she ended up pulling nails out of a pile of boards he’d set aside because he thought they were reusable. At lunchtime, Erin shared the remainder of yesterday’s pizza with him, although Cole didn’t look thrilled about that.

Erin kept trying to think of some way to ask about his accommodations, but failed. He wouldn’t welcome nosiness.

“It almost looks like rain,” she finally ventured. “Scattered showers” was what her phone had told her.

He squinted up at the gray sky. “Probably not until evening.”

“If it’s raining tomorrow, I can put you to work inside.”

He barely glanced at her. “I’ll set up the saw in the garage, cut the lumber for the porch to size. Might even slap some primer on and let it dry.”

He had to be staying somewhere. He must have at least a few possessions. Or would he? She couldn’t believe the correctional institute released inmates who’d completed their sentences or were on parole with nothing but the clothes on their backs and maybe what they’d had in their pockets when they were arrested. Or did they?

By five o’clock, the front porch was gone. The house seemed oddly naked without it, Erin thought, surveying the result of his work. Behind her, the garage door descended with a groan and bump. She’d noticed before that Cole wiped each tool with a rag and returned it to its place when he was done with it.

She knew he was walking toward her only because she looked over her shoulder. She never heard him coming. Somehow, even wearing boots, he avoided crunching on gravel or broken branches the way she did. His walk, controlled, confident and very male, was part of what made him so physically compelling.